


The Gift of Music

by inanoldhouseinparis



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Geralt has Secret Talents, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Soft Boy Hours
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 17:54:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29318223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inanoldhouseinparis/pseuds/inanoldhouseinparis
Summary: After Geralt accidentally breaks Jaskier's lute, Jaskier is devastated. Geralt does what he can to make things right.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 5
Kudos: 130
Collections: GRB2020 Team Works





	The Gift of Music

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Bang and I was partnered with the artist verobatto-jaskierxgeralt on tumblr, who drew this lovely picture for me.

In Geralt's defense, he was very tired. He hadn’t gotten much sleep the past few nights, (in no small part due to Jaskier) and so he wasn’t as focused as he would usually be. So when Jaskier set his lute down and mentioned he was going to relieve himself, Geralt grunted to let him know he had heard but didn’t truly pay attention, more interested in making sure their dinner was cooking properly over the fire. 

Satisfied with the progress of their meal, Geralt stood and took a step back. His foot got tangled in something and he fell backward, landing on something that broke with a horrifying crunch. Behind him, he heard Jaskier give a horrified and heartbroken wail. 

“My lute!”

Geralt felt his heart stop as he realized what he had landed on, what he had felt break beneath him. He hardly dared to look down. Sure enough, there was the instrument, in pieces, beyond any hope of repair. 

Jaskier collided into him as he knelt to pick up the pieces, only to arrive at the same conclusion Geralt had. There was no fixing the lute. 

“Jaskier, I’m so sorry-” Geralt began, but Jaskier interrupted. 

“I know, I know. I saw you trip. I know it was an accident.” He looked at Geralt and Geralt saw the tears running down his partner’s face. “It's not your fault.”

Jaskier absolving him of blame did nothing to crush the guilt curling in Geralt’s stomach as he watched his love cry and pick up the pieces of his most valued possession. They wrapped the pieces of the broken instrument in an old shirt of Geralt’s he had been planning on stripping into rags. Then Jaskier turned and almost reverently placed the bundle on the fire. 

“Goodbye, my lovely girl,” Jaskier whispered. Geralt wrapped his arms around Jaskier and let him cry into the crook of his neck. 

The next day as they walk Jaskier is unusually quiet. He’s not talking as much as usual, but also, in its absence, Geralt realized how much Jaskier played his lute. There are no warm-up scales, no plucking out tunes to hear what sounds best for his new composition, no spur-of-the-moment ditties inspired by whatever bird or view or flower catches Jaskier’s attention. 

To make up for the absence of his lute, Jaskier sings more than usual. He rehearses his new songs, practices new takes on classics, and practices tricky techniques almost relentlessly. Through it all, there’s an edge to his voice and his scent is tinged with sadness, but anytime Geralt tries to apologize Jaskier refuses to blame him. “I shouldn’t have just left her there. I’m just as much or more to blame.” 

Geralt disagrees, but in the end, he chooses not to argue. 

“I’ll be back by sunrise,” Geralt told Jaskier a few days later as he adjusted his armor one last time. They were at an inn and Geralt was about to leave on a hunt. 

“That late?” Jaskier asks and Geralt curses in his head. Of course, Jaskier would know it would be too long for such a simple hunt. 

“I suspect that there may be something more than just one nest of drowners. From the descriptions of where the attacks happened, it sounds like there might be a few places I need to check. I suspect very little of that time will be spent fighting, most of it spent walking along the riverbed.” Geralt doesn’t like to lie to Jaskier, but in this case, he figured a white lie won’t hurt. 

“Really? I didn’t notice that the attacks seemed particularly spread out,” Jaskier commented absentmindedly as he fixed his hair for the third time in five minutes. (His hair was fine, Geralt knew. Jaskier was nervous about performing without his lute.) “But I guess that’s why you’re the expert monster hunter and I’m the master bard.” He turned to Geralt and gave him a good luck kiss. “Be safe. Come back to me. Now I’m going to go quite literally sing for my supper.”

Jaskier left and Geralt was not far behind. He found Roach in the stables, saddled her, and rode to the river. 

Like Jaskier had expected, it was an easy hunt for Geralt. He had the drowners killed in no time and could have made it back for most of Jaskier’s performance if he had wanted to. But he had lied to give himself time away from Jaskier’s prying eyes and he was going to take full advantage of that opportunity. 

Once the drowners were dealt with and trophies taken, Geralt reached into Roach’s saddlebag and pulled out a manticore bone. He hadn’t done this in years, but he still knew how. He pulled out his little knife that he used for whittling and got to work. 

It had been a way to pass the time during long, empty winters in Kaer Morhen. He had found the book decades ago, long before he had even met Jaskier, and had learned from it how to create a little flute. His first attempt had left much to be desired, so he had burnt it and tried again. And again, and again until he had made a flute he was satisfied with. The next winter he had another, better flute. And the winter after that, and the winter after that. 

He tried different materials and different styles until he could make a decent flute from memory. The book he had learned from indicated that manticore bone produced an especially pure tone. His goal had been to find a contract for a manticore, and he set out one year determined to do just that, even if he had to go out of his way to do it. 

Instead, he found Blaviken. Renfri. 

When he returned to the keep that winter he had burned his flutes in an act of grief and rage and never carved another.

So he was a little out of practice now, but he remembered all the same. He took his time (he had all night) and carved slowly and carefully, taking the time to test it and make sure the notes were strong and sweet. When he was satisfied, the sun was almost up. He wrapped the flute carefully in a nice piece of cloth and made his way back to town. 

After stopping at the alderman’s house - who grumbled at having his breakfast disturbed but paid Geralt the promised amount - Geralt went back to the inn where he found Jaskier sleeping in their bed. When Geralt ran his hand gently through his hair, Jaskier woke up. He looked Geralt over and seemed satisfied to find no injuries. “Come to bed with me.”

“I have a gift for you,” Geralt told him as he began to strip off his armor.

“It can wait. The only thing I need is you in my arms and a few more hours of sleep.”

Geralt found that very hard to argue with and let Jaskier pull him gently into bed. 

They woke for a late breakfast, or an early lunch, depending on which of them was asked. All thoughts of the flute were gone until they returned to their room to pack. 

“Ah,” Geralt murmured as he pulled the wrapped flute out of his bag. 

“What?” Jaskier asked, turning around. He saw the parcel in Geralt’s hand. “Oh? Is that my gift?”

“Yes. I made it for you last night.”

“I thought you were acting odd about the hunt last night. Let me see it.”

Geralt watched as Jaskier unwrapped his gift and his mouth dropped open. “Geralt. This… _Geralt!”_

All of a sudden Geralt had his arms full of a crying bard, who was doing his best to press messy kisses to every part of Geralt’s face he could reach. 

“You… absolutely…. Incredible… man!” Jaskier babbled praises in between each kiss. “What did I do…. To be loved… by such a selfless… and amazing… Witcher?” 

“You haven’t even tried it,” Geralt deflected, embarrassed. “You don’t even know how it sounds.”

“I know it was made for me by my love. It will sound perfect.” Jaskier pulled away and wiped his face. “But you’re right. Let me play it.”

He set the flute to his mouth and began to play. At the strong, true tone, his eyes widened and his eyebrows shot up, but he continued playing until the short tune was over. 

“Geralt! How? I’ve never heard a flute that sounds like this!”

“It’s manticore bone,” Geralt explained. “It has special properties that make it sound better. I don’t remember, it's been decades since I read the book.”

“What book?” 

“The book about how to make flutes,” Geralt said, obviously. 

“You mean to tell me, that you made a perfectly tuned flute based on knowledge you got from a book you read decades ago?” Before Geralt could correct him, that although Jaskier’s statement was technically correct Geralt had also had plenty of practice, Jaskier was pressing another kiss to his mouth. “I’m going to go downstairs and get us another night in this room. I need to play this for an audience so everyone can know how amazing you are. And in the meantime, I want to spend the rest of the day showing you how appreciative I am.” With a final kiss to Geralt’s lips, Jaskier was out the door. 

  
  


How Jaskier had the energy to perform that evening, Geralt didn’t know, but he made his way to the front of the tavern and played a trill on the flute to gather everyone’s attention. “My good people! Those of you who joined me last night will surely remember that I was bereft of an instrument, and performed for you with just my voice. I am delighted to inform you that I have been gifted the finest flute I have ever played and have returned to share my joy and music with you!”

He held the flute out on display and the people near enough to get a good look murmured appreciatively. 

“This flute reminds me of my lover. Very strong and I can make it make the most beautiful noises,” Jaskier joked with a wink at Geralt, who was very glad that witchers could choose not to blush when the eyes of the tavern turned to look at him.

“You’re going to get us thrown out of this tavern.”

Jaskier laughed. “Not after they hear this!” He put the flute to his lips and began to play. 

Jaskier switched back and forth between playing and singing. Geralt noticed that Jaskier was significantly more out of breath this performance than usual because he could usually catch his breath from singing while he plays a little on his lute, but with a flute he doesn’t have that option. Instead, he took longer breaks in between songs, laughing and joking with the patrons. No one seemed to notice except Geralt. 

“Hmmm”

As he helped an exhausted Jaskier up the stairs that evening, he knew he would have to trick him into taking his turn on Roach the next day. He would offer in the morning, Jaskier would refuse, but when he would offer again after lunch Jaskier would be forced to accept. Content with his plan, he helped strip his bard and tucked him into bed before starting his own nightly routine. 

As he undressed, Jaskier watched him and chattered. “Just wait until I show my friends at Oxenfurt. Everyone will be so jealous. No one else has such a perfectly tuned flute, made out of material this strong and sturdy. They’ll all wish they had their own kind and incredibly talented witcher.”

“That’s not why I did it,” Geralt says as he slides into the bed next to Jaskier. 

“No?”

“I didn’t do it so you could thank me or sing my praises or make your friends jealous. I just wanted to make you happy.”

“I suppose I have been moping lately. I’m sorry, that must have been rather annoying for you.”

“It wasn’t annoying,” Geralt corrects, “it was _upsetting._ I didn’t want you to be happy so you would stop annoying me with your moping. I wanted you to be happy because I want you to be happy and I don’t like to see you upset.” 

“Oh.” Unlike the flurry of passionate kisses earlier, this kiss is soft and intimate, as Jaskier gently runs his fingers along Geralt’s jaw. “You’re so good to me,” he whispers, and Geralt doesn’t say that he feels the same way about him.

“Geralt,” Jaskier says the next night, as he lounges next to the fire that is heating their dinner, “how did you make this? I know you read it from a book, but there is a world of difference between making something that is flute-like and making a perfectly tuned flute.”

“I tested it out as I was making it to make sure it was tuned right.” 

“Oh? Did you borrow my tuning forks?”

“No, I just did it by ear.”

Jaskier froze and set his flute down as he turned to look at Geralt. “You mean to tell me that you created a perfectly tuned flute _by ear?_ Geralt, do you know how hard that is? It’s impossible unless- Geralt! Do you have perfect pitch?!?”

“I don’t know what that means. I just know what the notes are supposed to sound like, so I made the holes that would make the correct notes.”

“That’s perfect pitch! You impossible man! Why didn’t you ever tell me? Why do you insist on keeping secrets? You could have helped me - at the very least - tune my lute over the years.”

“You always kept your lute in tune. You never needed me to tell you.”

“I don’t need to know, but I like to. I like to know you, and I love it when you take an interest in my music.”

“I didn’t know it was a good thing you would want to know about. I just thought it was another mutation.”

“Even if it was, I would want to know. I want to know you, and your mutations are part of you. But this? Geralt, it’s a rare gift.” He looked at Geralt thoughtfully for a moment. “Every time I think I know you, I find there’s more depth to you than I realize.” He smiled thoughtfully at Geralt, then resumed quietly playing his flute.

While Jaskier’s mood was greatly improved by the acquisition of his new flute, Geralt quickly noticed that there were a few problems with it. Aside from being unable to sing and play at the same time, Jaskier also frequently ran out of breath on the road. While his stamina and lung capacity were admirable, even Jaskier was no match for fluting and singing while keeping up with a horse. Geralt realized that he needed to try again. After some careful thought, and acknowledging to himself that he didn’t have the knowledge to make a stringed instrument like suited Jaskier best, he came up with a plan, and the next time they stopped in a town he paid a visit to a tanner. 

“I made this for you,” Geralt said as he came out of his meditation to find that Jaskier had returned from the market with their supplies. He gestured to a blanket covering something on the desk. 

“For me?” Jaskier pulled the blanket off to find a small drum, not too large to be inconvenient to travel with. “Oh, Geralt, you darling! First the flute, now this!”

“You need an instrument you can play while you sing.”

“Yes, and what a fine instrument it is!” Jaskier proclaimed as he thumped a little rhythm on it. “Really, Geralt, you’ve outdone yourself. If you ever decide to retire from witchering, you would do quite well for yourself making and selling instruments.”

“Witchers don’t retire.”

“Yes, yes, so you’ve said. But I’m just saying, if you wanted to, you could make a fortune at Oxenfurt. Just promise me you’ll never make or sell an instrument for that… rascal, that… dastardly rapscallion Valdo Marx.”

“I’m never going to make an instrument that isn’t for you,” Geralt told him. 

“You’re too sweet. Come here, my love, and give me a kiss.” Jaskier pulled him up from his meditation and into his arms for a kiss. 

It’s almost a week later, as they are once again resting in a small glade around a fire, that Jaskier brings up a question that has been bothering him. “Geralt, I was wondering. Since you know how to make instruments…. Do you know how to play them?”

“Yes.”

“Yes?” Jaskier asks, incredulous. “That’s it? No more to say than yes? Not, ‘Yes, my love, let me play for you?’ Not ‘yes, I used to practice in between sword fighting and potion making classes?’ not ‘yes, I’m very accomplished and you are lucky to have met me?’”

“Yes. I play sometimes during the winter when I miss you.”

Jaskier’s mouth dropped open. “What do you play?”

“One of my flutes.”

“One of? Geralt!”

“Do you want me to play for you now?” Geralt offered.

“I want nothing more than for you to play for me now.”

Geralt took the flute from Jaskier and began to play a little tune, sweet and yearning, like one longing for spring on a cold long winter. When he finished, there were tears in the bard’s eyes. He looked at Geralt with so many questions in his eyes that he can’t even speak. Geralt takes pity on him and answers what he guesses those questions would be. 

“I made flutes for years. I just found the book and thought I might enjoy it. I made dozens, all sizes and styles and shapes. After a few years, I thought I may as well learn to play. So I did. It helped pass the time in the long, dark winters.”

When Jaskier didn’t answer, he continued. “I destroyed all my flutes after Blaviken.” He heard Jaskier make a soft noise at that, but pushes on. “It felt wrong that I should have a source of joy and beauty after what had happened. So I burned them all. The only three left are the ones that I had gifted to my family. After I calmed down, Eskel started leaving his flute in the common room, saying he wanted it to be available in case anyone else wanted to play it. He was kind enough to phrase it like that instead of offering to me directly because I wouldn’t have accepted if he had.

“I didn’t touch it for years. Not until you. After traveling with you, when I got to Kaer Morhen, it was so quiet. I missed music. I missed _you._ So I started playing again. Secretly. I would take the flute when I went hunting, or take it to the parts of the keep no one went to. They knew, though, and Eskel and Vesemir would have let me, but Lambert finally said that winter was too boring for me to keep my music to myself, and if I was going to play he wanted to hear. After that, I stopped hiding.” 

Tears were streaming down Jaskier’s face as he listened. Geralt reached over and gently wiped his cheek. “You’ve been keeping secrets again,” the bard told him.

“I don’t mean to. Not all my stories are happy, and I don’t like to talk about them. But I’m not trying to hide from you.”

“I don’t mean your past. You can tell me what you want whenever you’re ready. I mean the fact that _this whole time_ you could play the flute and never once mentioned it! I’m so angry right now!”

He wasn’t truly angry, but Geralt still thought it best to keep his chuckle to himself. Instead, he tried to look contrite. “What can I do to make it up to you?”

Jaskier settled his drum in his lap and pushed the flute firmly back into Geralt’s hand. “Play another song, one I can sing along to. I can’t believe we could have been playing together all along! I won’t make you perform with me, but on nights like this, when we are alone…” his facade of anger faded, “let’s make music together.”

Geralt looked at his bard, his partner and the light of his life, the one who gave him music when he thought he had lost it, and Geralt knew he would do anything for him. “Gladly,” he said, then began to play. 


End file.
